Over and Under
by swallowcliff
Summary: Ron's reached a rough patch in his life after Hogwarts. To build confidence and face his weaknesses, he finds hope in most unlikely combination of people. Will eventually be HarryRonDraco.
1. Default Chapter

Notes: This is a slash story, with an eventual Harry/Ron/Draco pairing. This is being written because of the mass of fics out there that claim this pairing, but end up being Harry/Draco with a Ron third wheel pity boink. This one's all about the Ron.

Over and Underby SwallowCliff

_prologue_

Teeth clenched and muscles strained, Ron Weasley dove into a roll to dodge the spell his opponent cast. He swiped the sleeve of his training robe across his forehead, and after a few moments of catching his breath, he peeked around the thick Oak trunk that he was hiding behind.

"Don't make it so easy, Weasley!" she called out. Ron wasn't quick enough to scramble out of the way, and felt his body freeze-up from the _petrificus totalus_ had cast. He swore silently in his mind.

"That's three times today, Weasley!" The woman snapped this as she stood over his still form and nudged his arm with her boot. Ron's nose itched from the acrid combination of sweat and leather, but he couldn't move to soothe the tickle. Bugger it all.

"_Finine incantitum!" _she continued, pausing in her berating to release him from the spell. "How exactly do you expect to survive in the field if you can't even avoid getting hexed in general MLES training?"

Ron pushed himself up for the soft dirt, determined not to let his superior see him wince. He swallowed his irritation and met the examiner's gaze. Mrs. Wattle was older, with sensible, short cropped hair and a face whose sternness rivaled McGonagall's. She wasn't exactly the most pleasant woman for Ron to be around, but he needed to impress her in order to secure a field position in the MLES.

His miserable performance of late most likely wouldn't gain him any sympathy.

"Weasley," Mrs. Wattle began, her voice clipped, "you are a very tall individual and your bright hair is a target. If you are so intent on moving out from behind a desk from your current position, you will need to work with these vulnerabilities to improve your performance."

Ron tucked his wand into a sheath strapped to his trouser leg beneath his outer training robes. He could already feel his anger and humiliation forcing a flush to redden his ears and cheeks. He released his breath in a hot puff of air and replied, "I understand."

He made to walk away from the training field when Mrs. Wattle's voice drifted towards his back. "Perhaps you might consider asking an Auror to work with you? This drill is something they complete early in their training, and they might share a few tips with you."

"Right," Ron grunted, his irritation seeping into his voice. He walked in silence until he felt the cool tingle that indicated he had breeched the anti-apparation wards that enveloped the training field, and disapparated back to the cottage he shared with Harry and Hermione.

_Hire an Auror. Well, that was the trick, wasn't it_, Ron thought as he shrugged off his training robes and flopped onto the settee. Nearly two years ago, fresh out of Hogwarts, the Ministry fell over themselves to offer all sorts of positions to the students in Ron's year. They were widely recognized for standing up for themselves against the easy path, and for supporting Harry Potter as he defeated Voldemort in an intense confrontation. Seventh year students from all four houses were sought after by anyone looking to plump their staff with a 'battle hero'.

Hermione and Padma had been courted by the Unspeakables, which only took on a recruit or two every few years. Ron joined Harry and a number of other students in the Auror training program. Because many Aurors had been injured or killed in battle with Death Eaters, the ranks were depleted and the Ministry was eager to hire fresh talent.

Ron failed at Auror training spectacularly. He had bitten his tongue against lashing out as Harry, Ernie, Malfoy, Zabini, -- Lavender Brown for Merlin's sake – seemed to glide though simulations and exams.

"I'm sorry, Ron," Harry and Hermione had sympathized the day Kingsley Shacklebolt had pulled him aside and suggested it was time to try something else. He had smiled sadly and had handed over Ron's latest practical results.

"Ron," Kingsley had said, "to be an Auror, one has to have a bit of darkness hidden away, buried in their soul. You, my friend, "Kingsley shook his head, "are just too much of an open book. I'm sorry."

Ron had wallowed around the flat for several weeks, firewhiskey clutched in hand, until Hermione had mentioned that the MLES had opened applications. It was a step below an Auror, but he would still be able to help people the way he wanted, and wasn't he always a step behind Harry in everything anyways? A bit slow on the uptake regarding everything? He had toddled off and submitted his application that very same day.

_That's what mum should rename me,_ Ron sulked from where he was sprawled on the settee after his confrontation with Mrs. Wattle. _Ron hasn't-a-clue Weasley,"_ he mumbled, forcing himself to stand and head for the bath. He peeled off his sweaty training uniform, leaving a trail of soiled clothing that tapered off near his bedroom. He settled into a hot shower and tipped his head into the spray, so that the water slipped over his jaw and shoulders like the massage of a thousand tiny fingers.

Bloody hell. This wasn't supposed to be happening again.

Hermione was sailing though her own apprenticeship at whatever it was she did for the Unspeakables. Harry flourished as an Auror, and he had already been paired with a seasoned partner. Ron… worked at a desk, completing paperwork for the MLES, and dreamed of working in the field. They'd been very accommodating, allowing him to repeat the practical several times. He liked to pretend it had nothing to do with friends in high places and everything to do with them seeing potential.

And now they wanted him to find someone to hold his hand. Marvelous. Why did the idea of this seem so worrisome?

Ron exhaled a deep sigh and rested his forehead against the slick tile of the shower stall. As the water stream danced across his shoulders and spine, he tried to bury the sense of foreboding that haunted him whenever he considered his future. Leaving one arm braced against the wall, he trailed fingertips over the muscles of his stomach to touch himself, pushing the disappointment from his mind with a random fantasy. Not for the first time, he imagined Hermione stepping into the shower, her face flushed and her hair frizzing into delightful spirals from the steam. Between the steady movements and tight grip of his hand and the tantalizing visions his mind provided, his worries temporarily dissolved and swirled down the drain as he drowned in sensation.

Feeling a bit more refreshed and secure of himself, Ron stepped into a pair of worn, low slung trousers and headed into the kitchen for a snack. He was surprised to see Harry seated at the dining table, across from a sandy haired fellow who was intently slicing thin wafers of cucumber. He hadn't expected Harry home for another two days, and when Harry nodded in greeting, Ron cocked a curious eyebrow before ducking into the pantry.

He was acutely aware of two sets of eyes following his bare back while he reached for a tin of biscuits. Cucumber-Boy was Harry's latest beau in a string of relationships that seemed to fizzle out quickly after an initial explosion of passion. More than once, Ron had apparated or stumbled out of the fireplace to the sight of Harry 'entertaining'. It wasn't _that_ much of a shock; Harry had made his preferences known late in seventh year, but Ron found the sight of flat, bare chests pressed together quite interesting for reasons he didn't want to dwell upon. Once he'd even caught Hermione watching with glazed eyes and parted lips, so he reckoned that the unsettling feelings were quite normal when one caught one's friend in the midst of shagging.

"Ron, you haven't fallen asleep in here, have you?" Harry's voice pulled Ron from his odd musings about Harry's sex life.

Ron stepped out of the pantry, tin of biscuits secure in the crook of his arm, and joined Harry and Cucumber Boy at the table. "Sorry, I was just replaying the practical in my mind."

Harry smiled warmly at him. "That's one of the reasons I rushed to finish my latest assignment early. I wanted to see how you'd performed." Harry turned his attention to his guest. "Steven, Ron's been training on the side to became a field MLES."

Ron snapped the biscuit he held in half from the force of his grip. So _Steve_ then. He didn't like this Steve, who sliced cucumbers and tomatoes as if they were volatile potions ingredients. He plastered on a neutral face for Harry's sake.

"Field MLES. How smashing! That's a wonderful path for those to take who aren't good enough to be an Auror like Harry and I." Steve waved his knife in his air to punctuate his sentence, bits of vegetable flinging across the kitchen. Ron wanted to shove the remainder of the cucumber up this _Steve's_ arse. Of course, Harry's toy of the month might enjoy that too much…

Harry must have sensed Ron's anger simmering below the surface. He looked nervously between Ron and Steve and gripped his teacup tighter. "Field MLES are very important in handling issues that aren't specifically linked to dark wizards. You've been practicing for months Ron, yes?"

Ron nodded and swallowed a bit early; the dry biscuit scratched at this throat and he nearly choked. Hell if he was going to admit his failure to Harry with this twat present. "Er… yes. Hard work. Curses and defense, just like early Auror training."

"Oh yes. They do learn some of the more basic and simple things, don't they? That's cute. I'm sure they have their uses in locating lost pets and whatnot. The department likes to keep their MLES officers pretty to show off at functions and things." Steve glanced across the table to eyeball Ron's bare chest and stomach rather obviously before turning his attention on assembling little sandwiches, completely missing the look Harry was shooting him from across the table. "It must be a breeze for you, Ronald," Steven continued, "after all that Auror training. Unless you didn't retain anything when you were forced out."

Harry hopped up from his chair at that point and circled round the table to assist Steve with the sandwiches. He met Ron's eyes with an expression that begged, _let it go._ Ron gritted his teeth against the retort that welled up in his throat. How pathetic, the things he did to keep Harry happy. Ron wondered if it was normal for someone to roll completely belly-up just to keep the smile on the face of one of his best mates.

"Yes. Well. I actually need to be reviewing my _Kitten Rescue 101 _manual for the next practical, so I'll just be heading into the sitting room then." Ron stood up from the table, indulging in one disgruntled glare at Steven before exiting the kitchen. He could feel Harry's eyes following his retreat, but he refused to feel any guilt. Instead, he flopped his lanky body across the settee of sulking again and shut his eyes.

Comments are appriciated!


	2. Ron's a Bit Naive

_Notes: I forgot my disclaimer the last time, so here's my official "I don't own anything, thank you for letting us write fanfic, JKR" thing. Lovely. I apologize for the awful spelling of _finite incantateum in that first chapter. _I usually rely on the Lexicon for spellings like that, but I apparently had a brain fart about a few things in that first chapter. Serves me right for starting this fic right after finals have sucked my neurons dry. _

Ch. 2: Ron's a Bit Naive

Several hours later, Ron awoke with a jolt when someone dumped an armful of _something _over his legs. He blinked the sleep from his eyes and immediately shut them again at the irate form of Hermione frowning at him, and his dirty robes piled atop his knees.

"I saw that," she said, tossing a particularly foul sock at his face. "Do you honestly think I want to walk into the cottage and gather up your laundry?"

Ron sat up and pushed the clothing back into one sloppy pile. "I had a bad day today, Hermione. Forgive me if I didn't stick to your strict housekeeping rules."

Hermione lifted an eyebrow in response and seemed to reign in her disgruntlement. She looked intently at him for a moment; Ron felt like some sort of potion or creature that needed observation. He knew she would cotton on in seconds, so he might as well volunteer his practical results. Hermione was too perceptive for her own good.

"I didn't perform very well in today's session," he said, idly twisting his fingers into the robes in his lap.

She nodded once, understanding instantly, and her face softened into concern. "Well, you'll just try again then. No sense in giving up."

"I didn't say I was giving up," Ron spat and jumped to his feet, shoving the pile of clothes back onto the floor in the process.

"Give up what?" Harry's voice interrupted. Ron turned to see him framed in the doorway between the sitting room and the kitchen. Wonderful.

"Ron's not quitting on working towards field MLES, even though he didn't pass today's practical," Hermione supplied, much to Ron's displeasure. He tried to peek behind Harry and see if the flavor of the month had gone on his merry little way.

"Where's your _friend?_" he asked, trying to keep the venom out of his voice.

Harry grimaced and moved closer to Ron. "I'm sorry he acted like a complete and total prat. I tried to talk to him afterwards. I didn't know that he held those sorts of opinions."

"Yes. Well, you could have at least _said_ something," Ron mumbled, suddenly unable to meet Harry's eyes. He dug his toes in the carpet and glanced over at Hermione through his still-damp fringe. She was looking between them, frowning.

"Harry," she said, "Steven wasn't exactly kind to me either, the last time we went out together. He said some rather horrible things about Viktor's eyebrows and nose, if you don't recall."

"Alright, Alright," Harry said, his hands up in surrender. "I plan to give him another chance, but if he can't get along with the two most important people in my life, then that'll be it." Hermione nodded sagely as if she already knew this was the decision, and she had just been waiting for Harry to catch up.

Ron finally let himself meet Harry's gaze. Harry was smiling, but his eyes betrayed his worry over upsetting his friends. It wasn't an expression Ron liked seeing on him, so he walked over and casually leaned against the doorjamb near Harry. "Don't worry about it, Harry. I'm sure I've been a bit of a prick over girls I've shagged before."

Harry finally grinned, his relief evident in every part of his face. Ron felt an odd thrill at making his best mate happy. He folded his arms over his still-bare chest and glanced over at Hermione before looking back at Harry. They both seemed to be expecting him to say something.

Oh. Of course. His practical. This was going to be rather embarrassing to ask for help, but they had taken some time out to go over drills with him during his Auror training. That didn't exactly have the best results though…

"Ron?" Harry asked, breaking into his stream of thought. Ron's attention snapped back to the present and his ears reddened when he realized Harry and Hermione were staring at him. "Er… sorry. Drifted there for a moment. I was just thinking about the time you both tried to help me with the Auror drills. Mrs. Wattle was working with me today, and she suggested I find an Auror to spend some extra training hours with." He gave them his smarmiest grin. "How convenient that I happen to live with the best Auror in the whole Ministry and the smartest Unspeakable that does Merlin-knows-what in her own job."

Harry snickered, obviously bemused by Ron's lack of candor. "I don't quite think I'm the best Auror yet, though I do still have all my body parts attached, so that's a plus." he said dryly.

"And you've already been given a few missions in which you've shown great success. That in itself says something," Hermione added proudly. She absently began folding Ron's training robes, wrinkling her nose at the smell. "Ron, if these didn't have spell resistance, I'd make you _scourgify _them every few hours. When was the last time you laundered them anyways?"

Ron pulled a face behind her back. He and Harry shared a glance, but kept their comments to themselves. Ever since Hermione had moved in with them, she'd become an even worse mother hen than she ever was at Hogwarts.

"But I do think that you two should schedule in some training sessions," Hermione continued, without noticing the childish behavior going on between Ron and Harry. "Not much of what I do for my job is very physical. Harry, you should be able to help him, right?" She began gathering the robes in her arms and turned towards them.

Ron raised a questioning brow at Harry. "You're going to help me, yeah? You _know_ I'm completely rubbish at this. It'll be awful if they assign someone to me!"

Harry pushed his glasses up on his nose in a nervous gesture that Ron had identified years ago as the 'stalling-Harry' trait. "Well the thing is, Ron," he finally said, after spending an inordinate amount of time on the positioning of his frames, "I've been assigned on a rather extended mission. I'm to be somewhere in Asia for nearly two weeks. We can work at things when I return though," he added when Ron's imploring grin drooped.

"Two weeks," Ron mused aloud. Well, the practicals were offered monthly; he could get at least a good week-and-a-half's worth of training in before the next one if he waited for Harry to return. "That should be allright. I can just do extra offence drills on my own, and then work on both when you get back."

"And I can help you on the theory," Hermione said, pausing in the doorway with the load of clothing. "I might actually be able to work on some things with you when I finish the rough portion of the project Padma and I are working on."

Harry was watching him thoughtfully, then nodded, as if convincing himself about an idea. Ron let Hermione pass by and leaned back against the doorjamb, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his trousers while he waited for his friend to speak. He could sense by instinct that Harry was struggling with some sort of decision. When Harry eventually focused again and pinned him with those green eyes, Ron had to fight to suppress a shudder at the intensity. There was something hidden in Harry's gaze when it was directed full blast at him lately, and Ron wasn't sure whether to be apprehensive or excited. It was all rather confusing.

"Harry?" Ron asked, quite pleased that he hadn't choked on the name. Would he quit staring like that?

"What if I had someone meet you at the sparring room in the Ministry building? An Auror that I've come to trust, and has proven to be an excellent instructor?" Harry cocked his head waited for his answer. Ron had the oddest notion that Harry was trying to read his mind.

"I don't know, Harry. I'm not exactly proud of the fact that I need to ask you and Hermione for help. I'm not sure if I want even more people knowing how awful I am in a fight situation." Ron imagined Aurors and MLES officers lined up on either sides of the corridors at the inistry, singing some updated version of _Weasley is Our King._ He buried the thought quickly.

Harry touched his fingertips together and an encouraging smile turned up the corner of his lips. "Ron, I think it might be your best chance. You'd get an earlier start on the drills, and the person I have in mind would be brutally honest about your performance, where Hermione and I always tend to sugar-coat it. It might just be what you need."

Ron considered Harry's words. As much as he trusted his friends, it did seem like they were much easier on him than Mrs. Wattle or any of the other examiners. Perhaps a third party might be helpful. He'd just have to swallow his pride for a bit and take a chance. That's what a good Gryffindor would do, right?

"I guess that's the best option, then," Ron said with a sigh. "I hope you're right about this though. And I fully expect you to pitch in when you're back from your mission."

Harry's face lit up, and Ron noticed that his shoulders relaxed just the slightest. A little voice in the back of his mind, the one that sounded disturbingly like his sister, questioned what Harry could have been so nervous about. Ron shuffled that voice away as quickly as it had piped up.

"What's this then? You're both grinning at each other like naughty first years!" Hermione said with a slight chuckle as she returned to the sitting room.

Ron quickly broke his gaze from Harry and looked over at Hermione, trying desperately to stop the flush that spread across his cheeks. How long had they been standing here, staring at each other? How long had Hermione watched them with that odd, knowing expression on her face?

Harry had retreated to the settee, looking slightly flustered. Ron was too busy controlling his own untimely blushing to consider what that meant. "Yes. Er… Harry had a suggestion for me about training with another Auror. He says he knows the perfect person run through the drills with me. One of the instructors, I think."

Hermione immediately looked suspicious and gnawed at her lower lip. She directed her wary gaze over at Harry, who seemed to retreat further into the cushions. "Honest, Hermione," Harry nearly squeaked before clearing his throat. "He shouldn't have to wait an entire fortnight for me to be free. I think it might work out well." His eyes darted over toward Ron for a moment before meeting Hermione's again. "The person I have in mind seems to be able to straighten out even the most pathetic recruits." His eyes widened almost comically at that, and he shot a horrified look at Ron. "Not that you're pathetic or anything like that! That's not what I meant!"

Ron brushed off the accidental insult, though it did sting a little. There was no point in arguing against the truth, though. He crossed the room and took the empty spot next to

Harry to reassure him.

"I know Harry. I'd be the first to protest if it weren't true through." Ron raked his hand though his hair a few times before looking over at Harry and over to where Hermione had taken the other open cushion. "I don't even know why I keep putting myself though this. I should just be happy to be behind the desk like my Dad."

"Oh please," Hermione snapped, "you aren't pathetic, Ron. You just need more work. Perhaps a different perspective is what you need. Harry, do I know who you're speaking of? What Auror do you have in mind?"

Harry fidgeted in his seat, shifting away from Hermione just enough so that Ron could feel the press of Harry's upper thigh against his own. "Actually, you've met. It's the Auror that backed me up on the Walter's raid a few months ago."

Ron leaned forward on the settee at Hermione's expression. He swore he glimpsed surprise there before she rapidly blanketed her expression in nonchalance. Ron wondered if perhaps he'd imagined it.

"That's very… interesting," Hermione said carefully. She paused in thought for a moment, considering. "I think you might be on to something here, Harry."

Some of Ron's trepidation drained. _If Hermione approves, that has to mean something_, he guessed.

"You'll be in good hands, Ron," she soothed, "At the very least, you'll certainly get a few good dueling sessions."

Harry jumped to his feet rather swiftly and headed towards the bedrooms. "I'll just go send Hedwig out now, and if you change you're mind, you can always cancel." He slowed and glanced at Ron over his shoulder. "I really think you should give it a go though," he said before disappearing into the hall.

Ron smiled uncertainly. "Well, I guess it won't hurt, right?"

"Exactly," Hermione said, standing up and glaring at him pointedly. "Now that _that_'s been cleared up, you might want to go take care of those robes before _I_ start hurling hexes at you."

Ron rolled his eyes, but wisely stretched and headed for the laundry room. Some battles he hadn't a chance at fighting.

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_A/N: Thanks much to anyone reading this so far. Here's hoping that it's sadly obvious to everyone but Ron about whom Harry has in mind. Poor little freckled woobie/snicker./ I hope to update this once a week or more, though if I'm not done by July, I'll probably be in HBP mode for a while. _


	3. Ron Learns About Bluffing

_Notes: Thanks to those who've decided to chance reading this so far and an extra thank you for those who've chose to review. I appreciate it!_ _Again, I don't own any of these characters, and I credit the HP Lexicon for checking accuracy and spelling of HP universe details. _

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CH. 3. Ron Learns About Bluffing

The wind was harsh and cold in Ron's face as he jogged his way from the apparation point to work the following morning, squeezing in a bit of extra exercise in an attempt to boost his performance on his practicals. Last night he had dreamed again of being out in the field, of leading his own team with coolness and confidence. He wanted to _be_ the bloke in those dreams.

He was really quite nervous about this evenings training session. It was bad enough for Harry and Hermione to see his weaknesses in battle situations, and they had both tried to push Ron against his magical and physical block. Hopefully this new instructor would be able to ferret out a way for him to work past whatever was keeping him back. Kingsley's words came back to haunt him as he neared the Ministry and entered to head up to his office.

_Too much of an open book. No darkness hidden in your soul_. The words taunted at him; never before was Ron so upset that he lacked a bit of the devil. He absently waved at other MLES officers in his department as he passed, only to nearly crash into Mrs. Wattle's beefy frame blocking the corridor. Ron gave a startled squeak, and promptly blushed at how ridiculous it sounded.

"Mr. Weasley. A word, please."

Ron swallowed and nodded, following her into her office. Now what had he done?

"Have a seat, Mr. Weasley. Good. I've been in a discussion with some of the other trainers, and we've come to the decision that we can offer you only one more opportunity with the first practical."

"What?" Ron blurted, forgetting himself. He leaned forward on the desk, both hands splayed across the random folders resting there. "I thought that as long as I was in this position, I could still take advantage of the training sessions and have a go at the practical to get into the field!" He noted the disgusted look on Mrs. Wattle's face and settled back into his chair.

"Yes, you are correct. At your current position, you are able to attend any of the field officer training sessions and retake the practical as many times as necessary. There must be a limit though. You need to advance from probationary status eventually, and there are only two paths. The first would be as a MLES field officer, and the second would be as a MLES research officer. Both are very respectable and honest jobs, serving your fellow wizards and witches. I really would encourage you to consider accepting one of the positions in Records."

"But Mrs. Wattle," Ron said in a carefully measured voice so as not to anger her, "I would be so much more useful in the field rather than locked in the law library with records and documents all day. I know I have the capability to pass that practical. I would rather have another chance at that."

She eyed him for a moment, her penetrating glare boring into his gut. "Mr. Weasley, I know that you are a war hero, and that you have a few important friends in the Ministry. The MLES is not in the habit of indefinitely extending a MLES officer's probationary status. You however, have had a luxury that most other new MLES members haven't enjoyed. If you take the records position now, your employment with us is secure."

Ron pursed his lips, considering his options. "And if I choose to stay where I am and attempt the Field Auror practical again?"

"You will need to pass the written and physical in good standing when it is offered next month. Otherwise, I'm afraid that the department will have to release you. I'll need to know your decision by the end of today."

With a great sigh, Ron rose from the chair. This was it, then. The last chance to have anything resembling his dreams. Ron hoped Harry had recommended a phenomenal instructor. He was gambling on it. "I intend to pass the next field practical. I've asked an Auror to aid in my drills, and I plan to revise with an Unspeakable for the written portions." Ron straightened his posture so that he towered over his supervisor. He tried to bluff a confidence he didn't quite feel inside. "I _will not_ be trapped in a file room for the next twenty years," he added.

"Very well, if that is your choice. You're excused now," Mrs. Wattle said softly, not looking up from her paperwork. As Ron exited the office, he missed her satisfied smile.

wwwwwwww

The vast sparring room was dimly illuminated, decorated with a scattering of large, blocky, stone shapes and false walls to be used in training scenarios. The cushioning charm on the floor absorbed Ron's pounding steps as he rushed into the facility. He was only slightly late, due to his last minute wibbling about looking like a fool before an Auror that Harry obviously respected, and he truly hoped it wouldn't make much of a bad first impression.

Ron slowed to catch his breath and took a moment to absorb the surroundings. The room was really quite big; it was arguably twice the size of the Great Hall at Hogwarts, though the ceiling wasn't nearly as high. The soft lighting cast by lanterns fixed on the false walls contributed to the eerie feel of the room, which reminded Ron of a gritty, dark, back alley. There were small groups scattered about and working on drills, reminding Ron of his own botched attempts during the first few weeks in this strange world of Ministry employment. _Auror or MLES candidates_, Ron assumed when he recognized several of the trainees while they ducked spells. As he made his way to the men's locker rooms, he noticed another group of fully robed Aurors joking and laughing at a set of tables in one corner. None of them seemed to be impatiently scanning the room for a latecomer, so Ron ducked into the locker room to slip on his training robes.

The material was snug and cool against his skin as he hastened to dress – he really ought to thank Hermione for laundering them one day -- though the comfortable familiarness of the training robes didn't do much to ease the frantic beating of his heart. What if he made a complete fool of himself in front of some esteemed Auror? It was bad enough that many Aurors looked down on the MLES as people who couldn't handle the dedication, stress, or intense training conditions that an Auror required. Ron had been guilty of the same belief until he realized that most duties of the MLES were nearly the same in a general sense, with less inflation of the ego. It was just that the Ministry and the wizarding world as a whole held Aurors in a higher esteem because they dealt specifically with dark wizards, no matter how many dangerous criminals the MLES hit-wizards took down. In any case, Ron would be considered doubly pathetic if he couldn't even pass MLES Field Squad training.

_Quit thinking like that,_ Ron admonished, _or you'll bugger this up before the first hex._

He paused before the mirror for one last peek at his training robes before exhaling in a nervous puff of air.

"You're not regulation, I'll have you know," his reflection prattled back at him. "They're entirely too tight around the shoulders, and will impede your wandwork. And the length…"

"Thank you," Ron snapped, interrupting his reflection. "They fit well enough when I first bought them," he said aloud before trailing off with, _and I'd assumed that I'd be in official Auror's robes not long after._ Why was he standing here, arguing with a mirror anyhow?

Ron exited the locker room, and when his eyes readjusted to the dim light, he searched the room with apprehension. Had the Auror taken one look at Ron and marked him off as hopeless because of his miserable record? He watched the group near the tables again and tried to quash the nervous fluttering in his stomach, idly watching two of the women's ponytails swinging as they participated in the conversation. When his insides were firmly under control, he tossed up a brave façade and approached them, not quite intruding on the Aurors, but near enough to draw attention. Most of the group had their backs to him, but a tall, dark haired bloke tipped his head in greeting and nudged one of the women.

"Looks like your Magical Law Enforcement Squad field candidate is here," he said with an undertone of mockery in his voice. Some of the other Aurors openly snickered and Ron licked his lips in distress. The woman turned, her blonde ponytail whipping across her back.

"It's about time you dragged your sorry-self over here, Weasel. I hope you don't expect to waste this much time every evening!"

Ron's jaw dropped and he nearly let his wand slip from his fingers when the owner of that ponytail whirled around and revealed _himself_ to be distinctly _not_ a woman. What in the _bloody hell_ was Harry thinking?

"Harry. You. Train me." Ron could barely form a coherent thought within the cacophony of words swirling in his mind. What in the bloody hell was Harry _thinking_?

Draco Malfoy's lips twisted in a satisfied smirk as he waited out Ron's mental backfire.

"Fortunately, I've been asked to assist in improving your physical performance, because your verbal skills are quite obviously beyond hope."

Ron snapped his mouth shut before something else blithering slipped out. He made an abrupt turn and stalked away from the group, who were now laughing loudly at some private joke that Ron was certain featured him. Even with his long, brisk steps, Malfoy caught up and matched pace. Ron didn't stop until he was safely obscured by one of the false walls. He spun to face his companion, blinking several times.

Yes. Still Malfoy. Standing there with his head cocked like some bird of prey, his light hair slicked back in a rubber band and his eyes sharp as shards of broken glass. Harry had plainly gone mental from all the various people whom had rooted around in his mind at Hogwarts. Of course Hermione had encouraged this as well, and there was certainly nothing wrong with her brain. Ron decided he ought to say something soon, because Malfoy's stare was becoming unnerving.

"You are the 'excellent instructor' that Harry wants me to run drills with to prepare for the next MLES practical?"

"Why, I'm flattered, Weasley," Malfoy replied with an aloof tilt up of his pointed chin. "He said all those lovely things about me? My, how times have changed. Imagine my delight when Potter asked me to hex you several hours every evening for nearly a month. How could I pass an opportunity like that up?"

Ron was too stunned to speak for a moment. His eyes involuntarily darted over Malfoy from head to toe. It occurred to him that he hadn't really _seen _Malfoy up close in nearly two years. Sure, they were in the same group of Auor recruits, but they'd been split into two training groups based on last name. Malfoy hadn't gained much height in those two years, but his hair was noticeably longer, even swept back in the ponytail. His Auror robes appeared impeccable as always, and his face was a virtual mirror to how he looked at Hogwarts, right down to the furrows between his brows that appeared when he sneered.

Ron chose not to wonder why he would be so intimate with the lines on Malfoy's face.

"Of course, if you always have that ridiculous expression, it's no wonder that Potter had to enlist the help of the _best_ young instructor the Ministry has seen in _years_." Malfoy's drawling voice pulled Ron from his odd musings, and his attention snapped back. Malfoy was watching Ron carefully with a strange, amused glint in his eyes.

"How can you be the 'best young instructor'? You've both just completed your second year of training! You've still got a year left," Ron protested weakly.

The humor in Malfoy's eyes vanished, replaced with an unusually sober expression. "I take my work very seriously. Third year of Auror training is when you specialize, not that you'd know from your miserable stint as an Auror."

"Hey, there's no need…!" Ron began, but Malfoy cut him off.

"Your dear Potter is the sparkling diamond in their field unit, but I am their new secret weapon. I know things about advances in dark magic that younger Aurors can't even imagine. I have connections the ranking Aurors can only _dream_ of. The older, higher ranking, experienced Aurors recognize my value though, and they've compensated me accordingly. I double their chances against Dark Magic users, and they know it. Now unless you'd like to stand there and wank to the stories of my great achievements for a little longer, I suggest we get some actual training in so I can asses your meager skills."

Ron just blinked, too astounded for words by the utter mass of arrogance that had just walloped his ears. He shook his head clear when he saw Malfoy's lips moving without catching a word. "What did you just say?" Ron asked, cringing at thought of having to ask him to repeat himself. Malfoy probably thought it was a great sin and insult that Ron wasn't basking in every word he spoke.

"I said, give me your wand. Will I need to repeat everything twice to get through your thick head?"

"My wand?" Ron asked, immediately wary. "Why in blazes do you need my wand?" He tightened his fingers around the wood and smoothed his thumb over the surface to reassure himself of its presence.

Malfoy touched two slender fingers to his forehead and glanced at the floor for a moment before meeting Ron's eyes. "Let's pretend I know what I'm taking about, and you're a clueless idiot. That shouldn't be terribly difficult for you."

Ron was completely confused. "How am I supposed to pass drills without my wand, Malfoy?"

"Weasley, I could have told Potter to stuff it when he asked me to help you, but I agreed because the thought of you running around in the field with mediocre MLES training would be a blight on our generation of students. I could just as well be at home enjoying a bath right now. Now. Give. Me. Your. Wand."

Ron inspected Malfoy's face for any signs of trickery and found none. The heaviness of Malfoy's gaze induced a wave of goosebumps to roll across his skin, but he felt compelled to meet those piercing eyes directly. He handed over his wand, letting it slide from his fingers reluctantly when Malfoy's fingers wrapped around the length. The image of those pale fingers on his wand gave him an odd shiver. Malfoy nodded slowly, and slipped Ron's wand into a pocket on his robes.

"Er.. now what?" Ron rasped out, his voice catching on the vowels from the tightness in his throat born from nerves.

"Now, Weasel," Malfoy hissed, the smirk creeping back across his lips when he pulled his own wand and aimed it at Ron's chest. "You run."

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_Thanks again for reading so far, and a special thank you for those who have reviewed. I hope you like the story so far._


	4. Ron Learns to Hide

_First off, thank you to everyone who has paused to leave me a review so far. This chapter took me a little longer to get out because I had a ficathon entry due, but I still hope to keep this updated regularly. The outline for this story is 10 notebook pages long, soI have no clue how many actual chapters I have here. This one was originallly longer, but I've moved some stuff to ch. 5.Also, I'm sure I will take a small break from writing this around the mid of July to read HBP. I intend to keep writing though, as it is already AU just by the Harry/Ron/Draco pairing itself. _

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CH4:Ron has to hide

Ron blinked. "What in the bloody hell are you going on ab- "

He was cut off when Malfoy called out, "_ petrificus totalus!_" with an overzealous snarl. A tingling sensation engulfed Ron's body before causing it to lock-up. In a flash, Ron was on his back, immobile, only able to gaze upwards toward the false constellations that sparkled back at him from the enchanted ceiling.

_Nothing is worth this sort of humiliation,_ Ron thought as he attempted to ignore the soreness in the back of his head where it had bounced against the cushioned surface.

Malfoy's face appeared into his line of vision after a few moments. His ponytail slipped over his shoulder when he jammed a boot on either side of Ron's hips and leaned over. Ron grumbled internally about not being able to swat at the blond strands that tickled his nose. His disgruntlement morphed into shock when Malfoy dropped to his knees and literally straddled Ron's hips. He leaned forward to hiss into Ron's ear, one palm pressed into the cushioned floor near his cheek.

"Pathetic excuses for wizards, like you, don't have a big enough well of magic for intentional wandless to work. You need to learn how to deal with losing your wand." He slipped Ron's wand from his own pocket with his free hand and traced the polished wood over Ron's face, trailing it across his lips and over the bridge of his nose. In his petrified state, he could only stare incredulously.

"You need to learn how to recover your wand. How to improvise by using the surrounding environment. Learn how to control those great, gangly limbs before worrying about your sad attempt at spellwork." Malfoy leaned back, just enough to trail the wand tip over the curve of Ron's jaw and down the taut cords of his neck. Ron couldn't even swallow, and he was horrified to discover that a strange thread of arousal was twined with the disgust and anger he felt. Perhaps it was a good thing that he was petrified.

Malfoy was quick to jump back on his feet again, calmly straightening his robes as if he hadn't just _crawled_ over Ron like some sort of insect. He ended the spell with a quick flick of his wrist, and Ron heaved a deep breath before fighting his protesting muscles to stand-up again. Once his brain had adjusted, he turned a hot gaze onto the primping blond.

Ron was simply furious. Angry at Draco Malfoy for tricking him, ashamed over his momentary lapse of sanity earlier, disappointed in Harry for recommending Malfoy as a tutor, and surprised that Hermione hadn't put a stop to all this when she had figured it out, Ron wanted nothing more than to wrap his fingers around Malfoy's pale neck and squeeze.

Hard.

"Weasel, do be so kind as to actually make this worth my time? I could have hexed you several times already while you've been standing there admiring me. I know I'm quite a specimen, but –"

Ron snorted loudly and quickly ducked when Malfoy hurled another stunning hex at him. "Did you specially enchant your mirror to flatter you every morning, Malfoy?" he grunted while tumbling to avoid a second hex. He rolled to his feet again and ran blindly through the maze of obstructions. He glanced around to survey his position and dove behind one of the false walls. "Or perhaps mirrors break when forced to reflect your pointy rat-face," he added, slightly breathless from his efforts but pleased to have avoided a repeat of the earlier hex.

"I've had more than enough lovers praise my statuesque figure to satisfy me," Malfoy's voice echoed into the dimly lit training room, an unembodied sound that drifted closer.

Ron peaked around the wall to pinpoint Malfoy's location. "Yeah, Malfoy, statues. _You_ should clean out your ears, as they've probably compared you to repulsive carvings of Gargoyles, I expect."

"And _you_ should attempt to shut your gob before giving away your _position! Petrificus totalus!" _

Ron tried to scramble away, but Malfoy was too quick and had snuck up behind Ron on the other side of the false wall. Ron was frozen mid-crawl.

"Well look at this. A Weasley down on his knees before a Malfoy, the natural order of things." He walked closer and lightly smacked the side of Ron's head. "Always assume the enemy knows more about the surrounding architecture and land than you do. Never leave your back exposed."

Before Ron could even mull that over in his head, Malfoy released him from the spell. His arms gave way and he flopped onto his stomach at Malfoy's feet. "Shut up," was all he could grunt.

"Oh. Powerful words. Your wit astounds me!" Malfoy squatted down near Ron's head, his robes softly falling about his shoulders, and watched Ron with what appeared to be genuine curiosity. The expression was so odd that Ron moved to rest in a sitting position. He could feel a flush spreading across the back of his neck, and he hoped Malfoy couldn't see it through the shadows.

"What?" Ron finally blurted. He hoped this wasn't another trick that he was falling for.

He cocked his head again, like Ron was an arithomancy problem that vexed him. "Why are you so intent on going into the field, Weasley? It's not glamorous or fun, no matter how flashy it might look. An Auror, a field MLES agent – there's a real chance at getting hurt."

Ron narrowed his eyes at Malfoy. _So, he thinks I'm not good enough? Not very surprising._ "I suppose you just wouldn't understand something like that," he snapped back, unconsciously wrapping an arm around his knees. "You're _in_ the field. You _see _the results of your work." Ron sighed and picked at the hem of his robes. "I know what everyone thinks of the Squad. They're a joke, but at least if I were in the field, I could see for myself that I've been able to help other people."

"Ah, so that's why," Malfoy trailed off in a quiet voice while gracefully rising to his feet again. "You've got a 'save the world' complex from Potter. How very sad that he didn't seem to share any ability with you as well. Of course, I'm sure he's ever so noble to feel entirely guilty and responsible for piquing your interest in a field that you are obviously unsuitable for. Why else come to me, begging for help with you? "

Ron jumped up and bit down on his lower lip to control his rage from boiling over. _What did Malfoy know about it? How dare that platinum twat even suggest that Harry felt sorry for him?_ But without meaning to, Ron began to wonder if Malfoy had a bit of substance to his claims. _Did_ Harry feel sorry for him? Is that why he and Hermione worked so hard help him train for the practicals? Perhaps it was why Harry would downplay what he did for the Aurors; he didn't want Ron to have delusions of possibly being involved in that sort of situation.

Ron couldn't help imagining the whispers between Harry and Hermione. '_Silly redhead', _imaginary Harry said in Ron's mind, '_we just adore him to death, but he's just this side of a brick when it comes to brains.' 'Just indulge him,' _imaginary Hermione answered. Ron was so caught up in his thoughts that it took him half a minute to realize that Malfoy was squeezing his forearm.

"I'm at a loss on how you expect to pass your next practical when you are this distracted and empty-headed." He poked the tip of his wand at Ron's forehead. "I could stun you again, but watching you collapse to the ground in a heap has lost its entertainment value. Now pretend I'm the evil death eater that's about to kick your arse and run."

Ron ripped his arm from Malfoy's grip, intent on taking a swing at the smirking, thin lips, but Malfoy already had his wand raised. One thing that Ron remembered from his bout with Auror training was that rash actions lead to failure. He had let his ire at this childhood bully rise to the point that he wasn't thinking straight. What he needed to do was regroup and stop letting his doubts take over. _And dodge these damned hexes_, Ron added mentally as he narrowly escaped getting slammed with an orange spell. He stumbled along in the dim light until he caught site of a hollow lit by a lantern, carved out of one of the blocky forms scattered around the sparring room. One hasty glance over his shoulder revealed no sign of Malfoy; Ron swallowed down any apprehension that surfaced – his back was covered this time.

"And now what to do…" he whispered. He could not let Draco Malfoy best him again. There had to be something in this room that could help. Ron forced his eyes examine every detail in his field of vision, waiting for a spectacular strategy to blossom in his mind. Hermione had reassured him once that he had the background to make a brilliant tactician. Why couldn't he think on his feet, then?

"Ready to admit you belong behind a desk, Weasel?" Malfoy's voice drifted near, but Ron couldn't pinpoint the direction.

"No!" Ron snapped, curt enough to elicit another response without revealing his hiding spot. He relaxed his breathing so it wouldn't give him away, while he idly watched as his shadow flickered along with the lantern-flame above his head. _I wonder…_

"I don't see why you keep inflicting this upon yourself," Malfoy hissed, still unplottable but drawing nearer. "You're just not made for field work, with your floppy, rag-doll arms and legs. Potter and Granger are too indulgent and should have smacked some sense into you long ago."

"Harry and Hermione _believe _in me, Malfoy. That's what friends do for each other, not that you'd have any idea what friendship is." Ron said all this in a distracted rush, his attention upon the slick gleam of the metal and glass lantern above him. It seemed to be loosely attached to a hook that jut from the false wall. He tapped it slightly, and the shadows seemed to slither across the floor in time with the swinging motion of the lantern. Perhaps he could find a way out of this corner after all. With one hand securely on the lantern, Ron peaked out from his niche. Malfoy was skulking less than two meters away, but he hadn't noticed Ron yet. Good.

"Friendship," Malfoy said, the word rolling off his tongue like acid, "is no excuse for weakness. They're likely to send you off to your death, twittering to themselves about how it made _them _so proud that you were finally worthy of their attention."

Ron grit his teeth to fight back any response. His heartbeat throbbed in his ears as he squelched down his frustration with Malfoy. He shook off any lingering skepticism and stretched to his tip-toes to slide the lantern up and off its hook. Heat danced at the pads of his fingertips though the glass, but it wasn't so hot that he couldn't maintain his grip. Ron blinked and swallowed. Time to play.

"Somebody like you, Ferret, wouldn't recognize friendship if it hopped down the front of your robes." He moved forward slightly, just enough so Malfoy could notice and make a sharp spin in his direction. Malfoy's mouth was quirked in an odd smile. "You see every acquaintance as someone to be used," Ron added, "You don't have friends. You have stepping stones." He took a second step into the corridor between the false walls.

"You know _nothing_ about my personal life, you freckled spawn." Malfoy had dropped the teasing tone of his voice, replacing it with pure ice, his wand raised and poised to cast. His eyes narrowed as he met Ron's, their color glittering and strange in the candlelight. "What I know about you though," he drawled, "is that your friends are so busy dwelling in their pity for you that they're afraid to hex you with anything stronger than a tickling charm for fear of hurting your precious feelings. If you ever manage to scrape by in your practical, their hesitancy means your death in the field."

Ron was livid. How could Malfoy even _suggest_ that? Harry and Hermione would never take it easy on him when they knew how dangerous the consequences could be. Hermione didn't even have "take it easy" in her repertoire! He dove recklessly into his strategy and hurled the lighting fixture at Malfoy's head, hoping with a sick sort of glee that the flames would scorch that ponytail.

Malfoy looked startled, but he was only able to utter, "Weas-," before he had to fling his arms up to protect his face. Ron took that opportunity to dive at Malfoy's legs, knocking both men to the ground. They grappled for few moments in which Ron realized that his opponent wasn't as frail as his thin body seemed to indicate. The designer robes were slick under his fingers though, and soon Ron discovered that he couldn't quite keep his grip on his flailing arms and legs. He made another wild grasp into Malfoy's robes for his own wand, losing some of his balance and giving Malfoy the opportunity to flip him onto his back. For the second time that evening, Ron found himself pinned beneath Draco Malfoy, his arms pressed into the ground by bony knees. His hair had been pulled in straggly bunches from his formerly slick ponytail, and his pale skin had been marred with red fingermarks on his left cheek. A miniscule surge of pride bled into the humiliation Ron felt as he lay beneath Draco sodding Malfoy, barely able to catch his breath.

"_Avada Kadavra " _Malfoy whispered, wand pointed at Ron's heart. You're dead." He backed up silently and pushed to his feet. All Ron could do was suck in a deep breath when the weight lifted off his abdomen. He was fascinated by the odd expression on the other man's face, for once at a loss for insults.

"Remember, Ron Weasley," he continued in that same soft tone, "A Death Eater who has lost his lord is a deranged and dangerous individual. Everything they do is erratic. You can't use strategy against them, because they aren't moving logically themselves. Much better to approach the situation with only a little structure and a lot of the bull-headed bravery that your dear friend Scarhead seems to employ." He paused for a moment, a bit dramatically, in Ron's opinion, and added, "If you're ready to pull yourself from your fluffy, happy shell," his nose wrinkled as the jovial words, "meet me here again tomorrow evening, same time. Otherwise, don't make me waste my unfathomable skills." Malfoy turned in a flamboyant swirl of robes and sauntered off.

False stars twinkled down at Ron, who still lay on his back. His emotions were a twisted mass of surprise and anger, of disappointment and curiosity. The little plot to get his wand back was far from flawless, but how had Malfoy been able to completely dominate him in that struggle? Some giggling voice in his head, likely Fred's or George's, whispered, perhaps_ you didn't mind being dominated by Draco so much, did you little Ronnikins?_ Ron shivered as he recalled the odd sensations that had permeated his body while his boyhood rival had loomed above him. That was _definitely _something he would rather not investigate further.

What Ron did wonder about was why Malfoy's words seemed to affect him so much. The things he had said about Harry and Hermione… was there a nugget of truth in those taunts? And what did he get off on even whispering that vile killing curse? Why didn't it even cause a nosebleed or bruise?

Ron shook himself and pushed up from the ground, hoping to catch up with Malfoy in the changing room. His intention was to immediately tell him to sod off, I'll wait until Harry gets home to train me, but Malfoy no where in sight. With a puzzled countenance and a very resigned sigh, Ron gathered up his work robes to head home.

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_A/N:_ _hope that didn't come off very confusing! Physical fighting scenes/duels are a new writing direction for me, and this story will have quite a few of them. This story is also my first approach at writing Draco. I hope I've tried to keep him somewhat developed a bit but still in character. _


	5. Ron Verses Cucumberboy

_Notes: Great big apologies to anyone who's been following this story and wondered if I'd fallen into a vortex.I did take a bit off for HBP and summer just ate away at time. THis is also a bit of a collaboration with someone not really involved online, butplays D& D with my husband andinvents excellent plots thatnever getput into writing. She's the one that really pushed me into writing this, out of my comfy realms of R/Hr and Harry/Ron. I've always been afraid to write Draco for some reason, becuase I like to keep their charcaterizations recognizably canon before spinning them into these non-canon relationships. So enough of that babble. This chapter was initially much longer in outline. I've had to split it because I get so wordy. _

_And now,thank you very much for reading. I'm shockedthat I've averaged about 25 reviews off of no small feat for me. I've also been posting this on LJ, but at a higher rating. I'll include the link next timeif anyone happens to be of age and interested, though right now, there's not much difference exept a little extra beta work. _

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Chapter 5: Ron vs Cucumber-boy

Malfoy was an enigma of some sort, Ron concluded as he stumbled from the cottage fireplace later that evening. The man Ron had worked with this evening didn't quite fit into the previously developed mental slot of, "evil, incompetent, little toe-rag." This older version of Draco Malfoy seemed just as arrogant, just as self-assured as he claimed in his youth, but he'd finally gained the credentials to back himself up. It was quite disturbing.

Ron was so involved with investigating this newly acquired interpretation of Draco Malfoy that he barely blinked an eye at the sight of Steve seated stiffly on the one of the sitting room settees. He nodded at Harry's current beau distractedly and scanned the surroundings for any sign of his two best friends.

"They're in Harry's room, if you're wondering," Steve said. "Hermione and a bird with hair as red as yours are prepping him for a quick assignment before we leave for Asia." He seemed uncomfortable and slightly put-out. The image cheered Ron enough to distract him from his musings.

"Aw, is Hermione not letting you pack Harry's skivvies for your little adventure?" Ron taunted. He dropped his rucksack onto the cushion next to Steve and grinned inwardly at the man's sputtering.

"Pretty-boys in the Squad always seem to think they are above what's socially proper," Steve muttered. Ron shot him a dark look. He wasn't even remotely in the mood for Cucumber-boy's terse, little comments this evening, particularly after spending the last few hours with the King of Snark. He stripped off his dank training robes so that he wore only his trousers and, after unfastening his rucksack with much more force than necessary, scrunched the fabric into a ball and jammed it into his bag.

"You're not leaving that vile thing out here, are you?" Cucumber-boy asked as if he couldn't fathom such undignified behavior. Ron ignored him and made his way toward Harry's bedroom after he'd toed off his shoes and socks as well. He had more important things to deal with than a prig with a broom shoved up his arse even further than Percy.

During his entire trip home, Ron had imagined several conversations with Harry in his head, most along the lines of, _'What in the world were you thinking, pairing me up with that complete git!'_ As he reached Harry's bedroom door though, he faltered. Harry was his very best mate. He'd never go to Draco Malfoy for a favor unless he truly believed Ron could handle Malfoy's aggressive version of 'help'. And Hermione...she would have put her foot down in a moment if she thought Ron would get hurt.

Draco's words flashed in his mind, unbidden. _They're likely to send you off to your death, twittering to themselves about how it made them so proud that you were finally worthy of their attention._ Ron shook his head. What was he even doing dwelling on that, letting it bother him so much? Malfoy had no idea about what sort of relationship Ron had with his friends. Besides, there was no benefit to upsetting Harry with this whole thing right before a mission. Harry and Hermione had trusted Ron with their lives and well being in the past; they weren't going to be so careless with his.

With one deep breath to rid himself of any corrosive thoughts that Draco Malfoy might have encouraged to rust at his mind, Ron knocked twice and let himself into Harry's room.

"No, don't move, and don't lick at your lips!" Hermione appeared to be scolding Harry as Ron drew closer. Harry was seated at the foot of his bed, clad only in boxers and a pair of black pumps with a high heel. His legs had been shaved, and cosmetic paraphernalia were scattered about the duvet.

Ron froze in his tracks and quirked a curious eyebrow. "Harry, mate, something you need to tell me?" Harry glanced over at him sharply, eyes wide and shinning very green without the barrier of his spectacles. Hermione narrowed her eyes when his abrupt movement caused her to mark his cheek with the lip liner pencil still poised in her fingertips. Ron barely noticed this flub; he was too busy gawking at how innocent and how surprisingly alluring Harry seemed.

"Will you sit still?" Hermione snapped. Harry blinked finally and broke their gaze to look back at her, though Ron noticed he seemed to be fidgeting.

The door opened again behind Ron, and Ginny entered the room, arms ladened with dresses and robes and other sorts of feminine clothing.

"There's not much choice here, especially if we have to work with those shoes. Neither one of us are the same size as you – hi Ron – but I think these might work." She dumped the clothing onto the pillows near the headboard and took over for Hermione, whom had given up Harry for a lost cause.

"Thanks, Ginny," Hermione said as she turned her attention to the clothing. "I don't even know how to match his coloring, not that he _sits still long enough_ for me to finish!"

"Harry knows what I'd do to certain parts of his anatomy if he won't behave for me, right Harry?" Ginny grinned and then tilted her head toward Ron. "What are you doing back so late?"

"Oh yes," Hermione added, her voice oddly tentative, "how _did_ that go? Well, I hope?"

Ron knew he'd been unnaturally quiet during all this fussing. He just couldn't stop staring at Harry's smooth, pale legs and he certainly didn't want to meet Harry's beguiling eyes again. He had a funny feeling like once before, a knot that settled uneasily and twisted in his belly. It took quite a bit of effort to tear his eyes away and look at Hermione. He hoped she would mistake his newly encroaching blush for anger rather than… than…well, rather than whatever he was feeling right now as he watched Harry flex his ankles in those strappy, girly shoes.

Anger. He could slip into anger quite easily. Hermione smiled nervously at him and Harry peeked over at him curiously from behind Ginny. Anger over this wasn't even an option.

"Er –it was different." He nodded, satisfied with that answer. Harry and Hermione seemed to be expecting more though. "Oi, but next time, give a bloke some warning if you're going to foist a Malfoy on him, okay?"

Harry smiled in relief and Ron noticed his shoulders relaxing just slightly. Ginny giggled and Hermione stepped closer to him and grabbed his hand. "Oh, I'm so glad you're not angry with us! I wasn't sure if it was for the best, but I agree with Harry that a different perspective could very beneficial!"

Ron gave her a wry smile and pried his arm away from hers. _A different perspective_. That was an understatement. "Well, I wasn't exactly happy about it, but I cheered up a bit when I saw Harry's _friend_ pouting on the settee."

Hermione began sorting through the clothing choices and held up something with an olive-green paisley pattern. "Steve's upset. He wanted to be the woman."

"But Hermione and I decided that he just doesn't have the cheekbone structure for it," Ginny said as she applied the finishing touches to Harry's eye shadow. "And Harry has excellent legs to pull this off. I'm almost jealous," she added, much to Harry's dismay. He swatted her hands away and flashed a sheepish smile toward Ron.

"Earlier today, my team received a priority assignment before departing for Asia. We're to apprehend a very slippery dark wizard that's known to frequent _The Ball and Chain _nightclub hidden away on Knockturn Alley." Harry shook his head vehemently at the paisley robes Hermione offered and turned his attention back to Ron. "There'll be a team of Aurors in drag spread about the club. And _a lot_ of backup, even MLES. It's expected to be quite a fight once we try and apprehend this former death eater."

Hermione held up a brown dress that resembled a burlap sac more than anything, and Harry pulled a face at her. "I'll have a hard time acting feminine as it is, and you want me to go round in that?"

"Just because you intend to look like a woman, it doesn't mean you need to dress like a hussy." Hermione sniffed and held her choice up against Harry's bare chest.

Ginny rolled her eyes snatched a rather skimpy, forest green dress from the pile. "I say go with this." She waggled her eyebrows at Harry and Hermione and winked at Ron. "It'll bring out your eyes, and you'll look sexy! It'll certainly show off your slender hips and those legs of yours, Harry."

Ron crossed the room and sat near the bed on Harry's old trunk. "Couldn't you just, I don't know, polyjuice yourself or work with a female Auror?" Ron asked, trying very hard to suppress disturbing thoughts of any sort that might feature Harry's hips and legs.

Harry seemed to study the duvet pattern intently while Hermione and Ginny quibbled over clothing. "It's not that sort of place, Ron. This nightclub, well, all the women there are actually—"

"No. Stop. I get it," Ron blurted, wrinkling his nose. "I could have lived without knowing that."

Harry raised his eyes to meet Ron's, somewhat shyly. "I thought that sort of thing didn't bother you?" he asked quietly.

"It doesn't, but it does bother me to know that Charlie frequents that place every time he's in England. That's more than I want to know about any sibling of mine," Ron added, shivering in revulsion.

"Oh, I forgot about that!" Ginny said with a giggle. "Too bad he's off in Romania, Harry. He'd be bound to make a pass at you in this." She slipped the green dress off the hanger and held it over Hermione's suggestion.

"I still think that green one is cut a bit too tarty," Hermione said. "He doesn't want to draw the wrong sort of attention!"

Ron personally thought that the grandmotherly look of Hermione's choice of dress would attract the 'wrong sort of attention', but he kept his opinion to himself for once. His mind had quite cheerfully and very disobediently supplied him with a vision of Harry in that forest green dress, of Harry running his fingers through his unruly hair while staring at Ron with sultry, lidded eyes. Ron didn't trust himself to open his mouth and chose to keep his very confusing thoughts contained.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," Harry finally said. "I think I like the green one. It's not too revealing, and it'll go well in this club. I've...er… been there a few times before, just for fun," he added feebly.

_That_ caught Ron's attention. He mentally shrugged any alleged fantasies he may or may not have been indulging in and studied Harry's face. Harry blinked a few times and slipped on a shiny, silver pair of wire frame glasses that had evidently been modified with his prescription.

"You've dressed like a girl before?" Ron blurted without thinking. Some odd little voice in his head hissed, _and you didn't tell me?_

"No!" Harry said, "Definitely no. A few of us went to see what all the talk was about in our circles. It's not like I have a lot of options without having to pretend I'm a muggle. Though that can be an advantage sometimes," he added, rolling his eyes upward to indicate his forehead before looking directly back at Ron.

He met Harry's gaze for an unknown amount of time, allowing himself to melt into the ring of green, now sheltered by lenses again. Harry seemed to be on the verge of saying something that Ron couldn't read in his eyes for once. As it was, Ron felt his mind was already so muddled with confusing desires and new revelations that he just couldn't grab hold of one stray thought and focus on it. Harry finally turned away with a sigh and smiled slightly at Ginny and Hermione, who were still picking through the pile of dresses and robes.

"Have you two agreed on my evening attire yet?" he interrupted. "I'm sure it doesn't bother you that I'm sitting here, nearly starkers, but it is a bit drafty."

Hermione picked up and dropped several more outfits before sitting next to Harry on the bed, the brown sack-dress in hand. "I still think you should be dressing a bit more conservatively so you don't attract everyone's attention in the club. You're supposed to be undercover!"

Ginny held the green dress up and smoothed her fingers down the material. "Ah, so you admit Harry would look quite fit in this one, right?"

Harry glanced between the girls before looking over at Ron with an expression that promised mischief. Ron straightened up from his slouch, a little wary.

"So Ron," Harry said as he seized both dresses from his friends' hands and held them up to his chest, "what do _you _think I should go with?" He raised one eyebrow in a way that Ron knew meant Harry was daring him to answer.

"Er…well…" Ron wriggled uncomfortably on the trunk. Why was Harry involving him in this? Couldn't his friend see that he was having a difficult time dealing with this Harry-in-Drag thing for reasons that he didn't dare analyze further? He knew he was accepting of Harry's choices, so why had he felt so strange inside ever since he'd walked into this room?

Hermione and Ginny were watching him suffer, bemused. Ron had already endured a rough day and he didn't need to hear either of them shifting their irritation at each other over to him. "I reckon if you're going out dressed as a woman, it might as well be as an attractive one." He laughed nervously and made a nearly visible effort not to stare at Harry's legs. "Show off your arse in that green thing, right?" Harry continued to observe him with that calculating look on his face, but Ginny whooped.

"See, Ron agrees. You'd look ravishing in this one. I'm surprised that you have such good taste, Ron, considering your bedroom décor. Or is it just that a man can't help wanting to see a nice bum in a tight dress and a pair of sexy legs, no matter who they belong to, even if it is Harry Potter?"

Ron jumped up from trunk with an irrational wave of anger, pointedly ignoring how gaping at Harry had coaxed something into existence that made his trousers too tight in certain areas. "Bloody fuck, Ginny. Would you shut up about Harry's legs? Is there something maybe _you_ aren't telling us about? You're the one who used to date him!"

"Ron, there's no need to shout," Hermione said, a little disgruntled that she'd been outvoted.

Ginny just snorted. "And _you,_ Ronald Weasley, haven't been able to keep your attention off his body since you walked in this room." Ron felt his entire face heat in embarrassment and his eyes strayed involuntarily to Harry, who was watching their confrontation with great interest. "Is there something _you _aren't telling us?"

Ron wanted to scream, wanted to reassure Harry --lie-- that he hadn't just been entertaining pervy thoughts about him; he wanted to pull Ginny's hair like he did when he was seven years old.

The bedroom door swung open abruptly, diverting Ron's string of jumbled thoughts and emotions. Steve the Cucumber-boy was now peeking in around the door, like some groveling little House-elf. "Are things going well in here? I heard a bit of a fuss and was just wondering. Harry? We're meeting them in a very short time. Are you ready to leave?"

"Nearly," Harry answered, but his eyes were still on Ron. Steve made no notice of this and moved to sit near Harry on the bed. Hermione hastily got to her feet and shot apprehensive glances between Ron, Harry, and Ginny.

Ron remained where he was, several steps from Harry's trunk and feeling very awkward. He narrowed his eyes when Steve pecked Harry on the cheek. Then, to Ron's immediate horror, he cupped Harry's knee in his palm, then slid his hand up Harry's leg, near the hem of his boxers.

"Oh, nice!" Steve crowed in what Ron decided sounded like some sort of a filthy rooster. "I never saw the attraction to smooth legs, but you could certainly change my mind. I can only imagine the benefits," the moron added with a lecherous grin.

"Ihavetogotakeashower," Ron said in a rush, his brain ready to explode. He spun for the door so fast that he nearly fell, but he managed not to make a further idiot of himself as he bolted from the room.

He could still feel Harry's eyes burning into his back and heard Steve's smarmy voice as the bastard said, "Oh, too right! You can't even imagine the smell emanating from his rucksack. The MLES must not have the same hygiene standards that—"

His voice drifted away as Ron rounded the corner into his bedroom and slammed the door shut. He didn't allow himself time to think over what had just transpired in that room, and in fact, all day. He shucked the remainder of his clothing while walking to his bathroom and cranked the faucet as hot as he could stand it. After stepping into the steam and allowing the water to caress his shoulders and back, he finally let himself relax enough for his thoughts to run wild. . Everything was still a very bewildering mess, but one thing had become crystal clear. There were parts of Harry's life that Ron wasn't privy too, even though he had assumed they shared everything. And without any doubt, those were the details that would haunt him until they were discovered.

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_Harry in drag is something I've happily avoided writing in all my Harry/Ron things. But my collaborator really wanted this part in because she thought it confuse Ron's senses and kickstart him into separating attraction from gender. Thanks for reading!_


	6. Ron Has a Heart to Heart to Heart

_Thought I'd drop the disclaimer again: I own none of this. _

_Jux: I'm going to post all the chapters on the Fire and Ice LJ comm this weekend for you. I'll give you the higher rated version there, but if you want to post the version, that's fine. I wasn't sure this would fit there since it will be the threesome, though there will be a lot of heavy development between Ron and Draco, since that'll be the big obsticle once Ron faces his sexuality difficulties. _

_Again, thank you for any comments because they are encouraging. This particular chapter has a lot of character development plotty stuff, so it's a bit long. It was originally part of last weeks chapter, but we played with the outline a bit since it all had to be in before Harry left and Ron met Malfoy again. _

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Ch 6 Ron Has a Heart to Heart to Heart

If Ron believed in fate, abstract notion as it was, he would place a 50 galleon bet on the idea that Fate, whomever/whatever it might be, had it in for him. What else could possibly explain the fact that a scantily garbed and high heel clad Harry had apparently been lurking about Ron's bedroom, waiting for him to finish his shower? He had his back turned, probably fiddling with several of the Quidditch figurines Ron had scattered about the room, so Ron ducked back into the bathroom and discarded the towel wrapped around his waist for something a little less…suggestive wasn't the word—that might imply something—a little less improper.

_Improper,_ Ron snorted to himself as he spied a pair of pajama bottoms that didn't seem too grungy and quickly pulled them on. "I sound like that berk," he muttered aloud. After quickly running his fingers through his hair, he walked back into the confines of his bedroom, his eyes making a quick examination of Harry's body before he reined them in.

Harry's little outfit was now rather complete; the forest green dress Ginny had insisted upon clung so tight that it seemed to be painted upon Harry's body. He flashed an uncertain smile that Ron mirrored. His face had been decorated in soft colors and his hair had been charmed to reach shoulder length. Ron's insides did a flipping, wiggly thing that he couldn't explain away with the excuse of a WWW candy gone afoul.

"Sorry about that earlier," Harry said, his quiet words sounding very loud in Ron's ears. "Steve was angry for a bit, but he's quite warmed up to this evening's plan. I think I hit a kink of his, actually," he added with a chuckle and batted his eyelashes in an exaggerated fashion.

Ron tried to respond with something witty and clever, something that would make this less weird, but the portions of his brain not dealing with the maintenance of keeping his body alive had sputtered and stalled – Harry had eyelashes? _Well, of course he had eyelashes, _Ron scolded inwardly. Blokes have eyelashes, and some have a bit of a curve to their hips as well, so there was no need to feel so swirly around a professional Auror dressed for an undercover mission. Except it was Harry, and Harry was cutting a rather striking presence in that dress and those heels, and those little pink marks at the curve of Harry's neck meant that _someone_ had agreed with this assessment. Ron scowled at that thought and flung himself into his bed in a rather ungainly heap.

"I think it was rather obvious that you hit some sort of kink of his, with how he…how he molested you right in front of everyone." The majority of that accusation was directed at his pillow rather than at Harry, but he peeked up long enough to catch Harry's suspicious expression.

Thankfully, Harry chose to disregard Ron's words. He turned back toward the shelf bearing Ron's collectable Quiddtich figurines and picked up a Magpie Beater, who greatly protested being manhandled. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about Malfoy," Harry finally said after a lengthy silence. "I thought you wouldn't have agreed if you knew whom I had in mind."

Ron pushed up from the bed and sat on the edge, swinging his legs a bit restlessly. "I would've appreciated some warning," he said, though there was no malice in his voice. "I really wondered about your sanity for a bit, though, mate." Harry crossed the room, walking carefully in the movement-restricting dress. He hovered near Ron, and although he looked as if he would like to join Ron on the edge of the mattress, he hesitated and chose to stand half a meter away. Ron looked down at the duvet again, looked over at a poster of the Cannons Chasers tacked to the wall—anywhere but directly at Harry. It was rather obvious that this conversation couldn't take place right now; Ron found it too disconcerting to discuss Malfoy's "approach" while Harry's tongue kept slipping between his bright red lips as if tasting the remnants of Steve's kisses.

"Ron?"

Ron, continuing to avoid Harry's gaze so as not to blurt something completely stupid, merely grunted.

"Ron?" Harry said again, this time punctuating his query with a gentle touch on Ron's arm to draw his attention. There was no way he could ignore that, so Ron looked up at Harry, allowing his eyes to linger only momentarily on how Harry's hand rested on his bicep.

"Yeah?" The word sounded entirely too ragged to Ron's ears. He swallowed and pointedly ignored the heat emanating from Harry's fingers in order to return his gaze. Harry was watching him intently, his brow furrowed and only partially visible over the top of his glasses.

"He won't hurt you more than any other instructor. And he's been a good Auror so far, no matter how unpleasant an attitude he displays."

"Er…yeah, it'll be fine," Ron mumbled. Harry's fingers tightened on his arm and he stepped a little closer so that he was nearly standing between Ron's knees. _Upping that bet regarding Fate to 100 galleons,_ a little part of Ron's mind whispered with glee. He was dismayed to notice from their proximity that Ginny or Hermione had evidently applied some sort of perfume to Harry. His nose was inundated with a scent comprised of a mix between some sort of flower and freshly laundered bed sheets. That, coupled with how his skin still tingled from Harry's touch and how the sounds of their quickened breathing seemed to combine, compromised an onslaught that nearly overwhelmed Ron's senses with conflicting information.

It was Harry, but it didn't smell like the sweat and musk of Harry, and it certainly looked like Harry, but _his_ friend Harry didn't wear slippery satin that felt cool against Ron's fingertips...

_Fingertips?_

Ron tore his eyes off Harry's face, alarmed, and made the rather shocking discovery that he had apparently reached out and placed his fingers against the plane of Harry's left hip. The dress fit skintight against Harry's waist, _like the casing on a sausage_, Ron mused absurdly before the reality of what he had just done smacked him upside the head. He pulled his hand back and scrambled to his feet so quickly that he nearly knocked Harry over. _There was no need to be thinking of Harry and his sausage_, Ron thought harshly, and he backed away until he smashed into his bureau. He could hear the little Quidditch figurines toppling over and climbing to their feet again, but right now, the only thing that mattered was the way one of his very best friends regarded him from where he stood across the room from Ron, still a bit wobbly on those heels.

Harry's expression was one of extreme puzzlement. He glanced over at a clock adorning the wall near the door and then looked back toward Ron. "What Ginny was saying about you earlier—"

"How often are you out at clubs like these and with whom?" Ron blurted at the same time. His insides resembled how he would feel if he were performing loops on his broomstick after drinking an entire bottle of firewhiskey. Had Malfoy hexed him with some sort of slow-acting lust spell that had been triggered by the unusual sight of Harry looking very _pretty_ when he usually was regular old, Boy-Who-Lived Harry? It had to be something like that, Ron reasoned, something that could be blamed on Malfoy with his shiny blond hair and propensity to trailing his wand-tip over the exposed skin on petrified trainees bodies. The alternative was just something he wasn't ready to contemplate.

Harry had taken a few steps closer to Ron and then had paused; he seemed very unsure and his demeanor virtually emanated the glow of tightly restrained curiosity. The brass knobs on the bureau jabbed into Ron's back, but he chose to remain pressed tightly against the furniture. Ron swiped his hair out his eyes and chanced a tentative peek at Harry through the remaining stubborn strands of hair. Their eyes met and remained connected; Ron had the unequivocal feeling that Harry was attempting to burrow through his thoughts again. His instinct was to remain slightly guarded for fear of allowing escape to any aberrant, erotic thoughts currently hurdling through mind.

"Even when I think I know everything you, sometimes, you truly confuse me," Harry finally said in a soft voice. He looked as though he wanted to say more, but at that moment, the door swung open and Hermione burst into the room and briskly made her way to Harry's side.

"Harry, Steve is so impatient that he's nearly gnawing off the arms of the settee," she said, her speech slowing near the end once she'd looked from Harry to Ron and had assessed their strained stances. "Harry," she repeated, much more calmly, "you're already a bit late, and you haven't yet masked your scar. Steve already has your luggage and Cross-Continent Portkey."

Harry had still been staring at Ron through all this, but he shifted his attention to Hermione and grinned sheepishly at her. "Sorry. I didn't realize." His eyes flicked one last time over to Ron before he raised his arms and engulfed Hermione in a hug. "Don't let Padma keep you working too late," he lightly scolded.

"I still think you look a tart," she replied in turn when she lay her head on his false bosom. "But please be careful, Harry. There are so many unmonitored dark wizards in Asia."

Ron was actually quite grateful for Hermione's interruption and subsequent mini-lecture on Asian dark magic. He snatched at the opportunity to steady his breathing and swallow his heart back down into his chest from its current position of lodged-in-throat. For the first time in memory, Ron was looking quite forward to one of Harry's longer excursions, even if it required him to endure two weeks of Draco Malfoy's version of tutelage.

Harry drew away from Hermione and looked over at Ron with an oddly pained expression. Ron blinked and chewed at the inside of his cheek as he gathered his nerves. Finally, he walked to Harry's side, as casually as he could manage with his emotions writhing like they were, and he stuck out one very awkward hand.

"Take care of yourself, Harry," he said in a relatively neutral voice.

Rather than grasping the proffered hand in a manly handshake, Harry reached for Ron's palm and threaded their fingers together. Ron couldn't help how his eyes dropped to their joined hands. He nearly laughed aloud over the ludicrousness of the situation when he noted that someone had painted Harry's nails Gryffindor red; it had completely escaped his attention earlier when they were alone.

"Ron, you know I'll be leaving for two weeks after this extra mission." He squeezed their fingers tighter until Ron had no choice but to look directly at Harry. "If there's anything you need to say to me before I leave, it has to be now."

Ron's eyes darted over to Hermione; she was watching them both with a shrewd expression. He looked back over at Harry and forced a smile. No sense in making this evening any weirder. "Just be careful, like Hermione said. And be prepared to listen to a lot of griping about Malfoy once you've returned."

Harry seemed to be waiting for more, but there was no way Ron was going to even begin to deal with the tangled mess in his mind while Harry had curves that had no business being attached to a man's body. With one last squeeze of Ron's fingers, Harry sighed heavily and pulled his hand away, appearing to be resigned to the fact that Ron was not willing to talk about anything but a pleasant farewell at this point. "Just listen to some of what the ferret has to say. If you want to pass this next practical, you shouldn't allow half a month pass by without any training."

"Right."

"And I can't believe I'm about to tell you this, but you _can_ trust him. Mostly," Harry added when Ron shot him an incredulous look. Hermione, however, nodded in agreement with Harry.

"Right, then," Ron repeated. There really wasn't much else. Hermione kept shifting her weight between each leg like she couldn't decide where to stand between her two friends. Harry poked the pointy toe of his feminine shoes into the carpet and tugged on the slit in his dress. There was an unusual tenseness permeating the very air they breathed in that room. It hung heavy and thick and clotted Ron's breath with each inhalation.

"Harry, love, we really need to be getting on." Steve's voice sliced into the room and instantly, the lingering uneasiness dissipated. Ron was quite sure that rather than dissolving though, all the anxiety had taken residence in his stomach. He watched as Steve neared Harry, and he narrowed his eyes when the prat took hold of Harry's hand-- the same hand that Ron had just been in contact with. Ron imagined he still felt the warmth of Harry's skin resting against his own. He surreptitiously wiped his palm down the outer thigh of his pajama pants.

"Goodbye, Hermione. Good luck with Malfoy, Ron," Harry called while he led Steve out Ron's bedroom doorway. He glanced once more over his shoulder at Ron before turning the corner.

Steve also turned to look back over his shoulder at Ron once Harry was out of sight, but his lips were twisted in a sardonic smile. Ron's hands involuntarily clenched into fists at his side and he forced himself not to submit to the desire to bash Cucumber boy's face in. "Don't worry, pretty thing, _I'm_ a trained Auror, I'll watch his backside," he whispered over his shoulder and winked. "Very carefully," he added before he scurried off behind Harry.

Ron spun abruptly and two long strides later, he was close enough to his bed that he could drive his fist into his pillow. "Bloody, sodding pillock!"

"Ron! There's no need to act like a fourteen year old!" Hermione admonished. She grabbed at his elbow to prevent a repeat performance. Ron felt a little guilty and properly chastised; he had nearly forgotten Hermione was nearby.

His entire evening seemed completely surreal, to the point that if he hadn't known any better, he would swear on Dumbledore's grave that it was a daydream gone badly. He let himself succumb to his physical and mental exhaustion and fell backward onto his mattress, reveling in how his entire body bounced on the springs. Hermione snorted in distain. Nevertheless, once Ron had settled into the sheets, she joined him by sitting cross-legged against the headboard.

"Now are you ready to _trul_y tell me how things went," she began as she pulled a pillow into her lap, "or did you intend for me to believe that meeting Draco went as well as you claim?"

"Everything's fine," Ron grumbled. He flipped onto his stomach and snuggled his head into the duvet, rather grateful that she'd delicately restrained herself from mentioning the _whatever_ that had occurred with Harry. Well, somewhat grateful; she still wore her Inquisitive-Hermione face, which usually meant there would be no stopping her from delving for answers. Ron pillowed his head on his forearm and mumbled, "I'm sleepy, and I've got to be up early in the morning, so be happy that everything is completely wonderful."

"Of course it is," Hermione said with a note of disbelief in her voice. Ron didn't catch her expression, but he did feel how she whacked him across the shoulders and the back of his head with the pillow.

"Oi, woman!" He pulled the pillow from her hands and put it to use the way it was intended. "You've been spending too much time with my sister."

"Who has gone home, by the way," Hermione informed him, "though she did suggest a few more brutal measures than that. Now I've got two more pillows at my disposal here, so you might as well ease my concerns."

Ron flipped to his back so that he faced the ceiling. Likely due to his stubborn, lingering feelings for her, Hermione had a talent for making him feel guilty without much effort at all. He had no choice but to relent. "Well, it was the entire day, really, not just _Steve_'s little digs at the MLES. First, Mrs. Wattle started in with her, 'I really would encourage you to consider accepting a position in Records' blabber," Ron said, mocking his superior's voice. He folded his arms across his chest and stared hard at the ceiling.

"Oh Ron, they've been saying that for nearly two years. You're not going to let it bother you now?" The last question sounded more like a command to Ron's ears and brought a smile onto his face. He could always count on Hermione.

"Well, there's also obviously this thrilling arrangement I've got now with _Malfoy_ of all people." He turned to his side so he could see Hermione's face and snuggled into the pillow. "Imagine my surprise when my two very best friends kept that little tidbit a secret." The last was said with an expression that was rather close to a pout.

Hermione's teasing smile slipped into a grimace. "Was it completely horrid?" she asked softly. "I had my doubts when Harry first mentioned it, but Draco really did save Harry's life a few months ago when they brought in that Death Eater, Walters."

"That's probably because he and Mafoy were old Muggle-torture mates."

"No, he had a perfect opportunity to hurt Harry, but he chose to help. I think, unpleasant as the man might be, Draco Malfoy has taken his oath as an Auror quite serious." Hermione tapped her index finger against her knee while she seemed to contemplate something. Ron just rolled his eyes.

"He took my wand, Hermione, ordered me to give it over, and then leveled a volley of hexes at me while I was unarmed. Without explaining anything," he added for sympathy. .

"Really?" Hermione asked, now watching Ron with one eyebrow raised. The infuriating smile had returned to her face.

"Yes," Ron complained in his most put-upon tone of voice. "I ended up having to lob a lantern at his pale arse. I reckon the greedy wanker was just twitching to get hold of my wand." His eyes widened at the unintentional double entendre and he hastily added, "To hex me." He decided to withhold any other…details…about their session. Hermione didn't need any reminder to bring the conversation around to Ginny's earlier accusations.

"Well, it's certainly a new approach for you, I gather." she said once Ron had quit griping. She adjusted her position so that she could look at him directly. "You know very well that Harry would have never suggested—"

"I know, Hermione. Don't nag."

"I'm not nagging. I'm just putting this entire situation in perspective for you, since it appears you haven't had the best day. Malfoy's…er…method might be unorthodox, but you do need some sort of nudge to get over this block you've got." Ron snorted, but she pushed onward. "Malfoy might be very intimate with all matters of dark magic, and he certainly is an unpleasant little ferret—"

"And full of himself, so much so that he makes Percy sound humble," Ron interjected.

"Yes, and rather conceited. But," and her gaze hardened slightly, just enough to let Ron know that she really wanted him to hear this, "Malfoy also believed in a lot of things just because he admired his father. Very poor judgment really, but I think everyone has a soft spot for their own parents." She went quiet; Ron knew she was thinking about her own parents and how she'd had to resist their thinly veiled "suggestions" that she wouldn't be a well rounded person if she didn't attend a Muggle university.

He still didn't think that admiration for one's parents excused any of the rubbish Malfoy had put them through, _put Harry through_, he corrected, while at Hogwarts and afterward. No matter what Hermione claimed, He was convinced that if Malfoy had a heart in that icy chest of his, it would be an astounding lump of coal and ash, burnt by darkness. Which reminded him…"Hermione," he said, breaking the silence. She visibly shook herself from her memories and looked down at Ron. "Near the end of our session today, right before Malfoy began bleating a load of hippogriff dung about death eaters, he had his wand pointed directly at my chest, and he whispered the Killing Curse at me." Ron swallowed at the memory, still as fresh as some of the aches in his muscles garnered from their session. "How can he do that without anything happening?" He muttered the last very softly and turned to lie on his back again.

Hermione didn't answer right away. Close to dozing off, Ron listened to the sounds of insects and nocturnal birds drifting through his window screen with the evening breeze. His weary eyes flicked from a poster adorning his wall, to curly wisps of hair that seemed to float around Hermione's head—anything that would keep him from dwelling on images of Malfoy kneeling above him with a knowing smirk or Harry focused on pushing a thin slip of forest green fabric back onto his bare shoulder.

"It's because Malfoy's not dark, not really," Hermione observed after an extended silence, startling Ron from the thoughts he'd failed at avoiding. She looked very sleepy and satisfied that she'd been able to puzzle Ron's query out.

"Mmhmmm," he hummed, waiting for her to elaborate on her declaration.

"He'd have to desire someone's death with all his being for that particular Unforgivable to work as cast." She pressed her palm to Ron's forehead and began stroking his fringe back. Her voice lowered to a whisper. "He's completely inconsiderate and an absolute-"

"wanker," Ron supplied in a voice graveled by impending sleep.

"Fine, that," she said softly. "But he's not as evil as you'd like think. It's time you learned not to judge people by their past." Hermione continued to brush the damp strands of hair from his face, and Ron's eyes fluttered closed as he relaxed into her touch. _Now why couldn't everything be as easy_, he wondered as some of the heaviness lifted from his chest. Hermione's attempts to lull him to sleep were a very welcome distraction. Her gentle touch caused his heart to beat in fits and starts before settling into a quiet rhythm. It was comforting and seemed absolutely normal compared to what had occurred that day between he and Harry or even Malfoy. Hermione might not be available nor romantically interested in Ron at this point, but she was clearly female; his body reacted accordingly to her fussing, and he _understood. _Perhaps everything _else _occurring that day was a fluke.

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_A/N: There are a few wordy chunks in there that I'm worried about, but my collaborator encouraged me to keep them in. Had to set a few threads down in this chapter. For anyone wondering, because some have asked on my LJ, I like a strong trio friendship, no matter which two happened to be paired off. And we both think that someone as blatently canon-het as Ron is not going to dive into a relationship with Harry or Malfoy without some transition. _

_Comments are appriciated! Hopefully we'll keep to this schedule of posting weekly. _


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